


baby can i hold you

by alphathorinrock



Category: Black Panther (2018)
Genre: AH - Freeform, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post Black Panther, Um., mentions of self harm, nothing major, oh!, sorry I suck at tagging, sorta - Freeform, there we go, what else, yes - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-18
Updated: 2018-03-18
Packaged: 2019-04-04 02:51:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14010558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alphathorinrock/pseuds/alphathorinrock
Summary: the self harm is in relation to Erik so its not anything major but please be warned if this is a trigger for you!really only a short ficlet but i cant help myself i loved this movie and i know i will end up watching it a million times!!!as always, hope you enjoy!





	baby can i hold you

**Author's Note:**

> the self harm is in relation to Erik so its not anything major but please be warned if this is a trigger for you!
> 
> really only a short ficlet but i cant help myself i loved this movie and i know i will end up watching it a million times!!!  
> as always, hope you enjoy!

The nights were always the hardest. As soon as the sun set over the horizon, he knew what he was in for; endless hours of relentless torture.

 

They were fretful, sleepless, an utter void with infinite power to drain. But after many years of dealing with them, he was somewhat used to them.

 

That’s why T’challa wasn’t surprised when there was a knock on his door just past midnight. He wasn’t exactly expecting it, but he knew, on molecular level, that the nights were just as hard for Erik as they were for him.

 

Erik, exhausted and rumpled, standing at the entrance to his chambers, was a welcome sight for T’challa’s tired eyes. The spear he was holding, however, was not.

Erik held his hands up as a sign of peace as the Dora Milaje posted at T’challa’s door pointed spears of their own at him. T’challa could see the poorly veiled exasperation in Erik’s eyes; he knew his cousin was simply here to talk. He placed a hand on one of his guard’s shoulders, silently gesturing for her to stand down before they ran Erik through for a second time. He grabbed his cousin’s arm and dragged him into his chambers, telling his guards that they could take a break.

 

Erik stood in the middle of his room. His shoulders were hunched, his eyes sunken, the newest scar a vivid pink across his chest, stark contrast to the beautiful plains of his skin. He looked defeated, weak, small… nothing like the King T’challa had fought mere days before.

 

‘I need to ask you something. A favour, sorta...’ he said, voice just as small as he looked. His hands were wringing the shaft of the spear he was still holding. T’challa eyed it, but he was more wary of what Erik was going to ask him to do with it than anything else. ‘This,’ he said, clearing his throat with conviction, thrusting the spear in front of his chest by the shaft, ‘this is the spear I used to kill Zuri. I want…’ he looked at his feet, somehow making himself look even smaller, ‘I want you to brand me with it.’

 

T’challa felt his eyes pop wide, panic rising from the soles of his feet. ‘Have I not already hurt you enough, N’Jadaka?’ He said, trying to keep the fear from seeping into his voice.

 

Erik shook his head. ‘That ain’t the point man. A scar for a life, that’s the deal.’ He smirked slightly, some of his false bravado slowly creeping back over him. The smile turned sad, however, when a new though crossed his mind. ‘I thought it would be more… I dunno, _respectful,_ if I used the spear that I killed him with,’

 

He shrunk back in on himself again, retreating back into his thoughts. ‘I shouldn’tve done him like that, man. I was just so _mad_ , like… he was my Uncle _James._ One day he was there, teaching me how to shoot hoops, and the next day, my old man’s dead, and James is no where to be found. He just… deserved better. They both did.’

 

T’challa couldn’t help the tears that welled in his eyes. Erik was still staring at his feet; doing everything he could to avoid T’challa’s eyes. Seizing the opportunity, T’challa took a step forward, his bare feet resting millimetres from his cousins. Gently, he covered Erik’s hands with his own, prying the spear from his grip. He dropped it to the floor behind him, but kept hold of Erik’s hands, drawing them up to his face so he could leave a gentle kiss on each knuckle.

 

His tears spilled from his eyes and soaked into Erik’s skin. T’challa waited for him to pull his hands back, bracing himself for the sting of rejection. But when Erik continued to stand, doe eyed, before him, T’challa kept using his lips to brand his skin instead.

 

‘You will no longer have to practice this self mutilation, N’Jadaka,’ he said, leaving a trail of kisses up to the scars on Erik’s wrists. ‘You have nothing to prove here, and no one to prove yourself to,’ T’challa cupped Erik’s left hand in the both of his, bowing his head slightly to place the palm of it on his cheek. He kissed the flesh of Erik’s thumb, kissed his lifeline, used Erik’s fingertips to trace his own lips. ‘Your crimes have been forgiven, cousin. It is about time that you forgive yourself.’

 

Erik’s eyes were watery when T’challa finally looked at him. He watched as an invisible weight rolled off of the man, watched as Erik crumpled into his arms, releasing years and years of stored up tears. T’challa held him until the sun rose. They watched Wakanda come alive under its rays, and forgot all about the spear.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> title from tracy chapman's song of the same name


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